Relative to Its Size
by larrythestapler
Summary: Relative to its size, the barnacle has the largest penis out of all animals. Haruhi is clueless to Kyouya's intentions. After Tamaki's death, she has been left in a state of mixed feelings. After a meaningless kiss, what will the shadow king do?


Relative to Its Size

A/N: This is kind of a sequel to my UNFINISHED fanfiction (Un Mauvais Reve) but it doesn't follow some of the details, so there aren't risks for spoilers. It's not edited, written from uninspiration rather than force, so excuse some errors. I made Kyouya kind of perverted too, so watch out. Also notice any Garden State, Scrubs, or House references xD No real plot, but I hope it's still delicious.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. Or House. Or Scrubs. Or Garden State. They're too awesome to be my work :D

"Relative to its size, the barnacle has the largest penis compared to any other animal." Kyouya chuckled. He wore a fancy Armenian suit, and sat in a four star restaurant with the most beautiful woman in the world, the woman he cherished even more than gold and glitz. That woman was Haruhi Fujioka.

"Senpai, you're telling me this because?" the feisty brunette inquired with an unladylike snort. "Relative to your brain, you have the tacky humor of a four year old."

"I wasn't the one crossdressing as a boy for three years." Kyouya teased facetiously. They have been hanging out, rather than dating, for a few months, and Kyouya had been thinking impure male thoughts. His hormones skyrocketed when he was around Haruhi, but he never thought of her as a fling or a post-on-your doorknob type of girl. No, she had class, and elegance, but her chaste, honest innocence seduced him every time. It unleashed the perversion that ran throughout his glands, a rather ineffable feeling that held him captive. Never. Never had he felt so confined and bottled up. The worse thing was that he wanted to uncap the situation, to embrace her, to love her. But he could not, and remained silent of the predicament that fluctuated his feelings.

He treated her decently. He left her space to bereave and to express emotion. He remained standoffish and light when they were around, decently treating her, and lightly teasing her. When they were together, she was a mockingbird in his hand; hold it firmly and it can't escape, and hold it to tightly and you destroy the internal organs and kill it. Kyouya lived by that standard incessantly around her, at the apogee of understanding unconditional love. Thus she could not see through his nice guy façade.

She looked beautiful with her long silky hair in a pragmatic knot and her eyes glittered with love. The idiosyncrasy of her wandering off gave him a flushed feeling. Her hips were elegant and thin, perfect for the black sheath dress that surrounded her pale, small body. Her black pumps gave her stature and heights, making her seem more confident than she already was.

One problem. pervy Kyouya also thought she would look fine without all those extra garments. Her posture defined perfection, and her perfectly ample bosom complemented the elegance of her petite body. His temperature rose when he held her white arms around his, and it pained him to feel that way. His brain refused to comply, but his heart and manhood screamed infinitely. Sincerely, he did not want to hurt her.

He would recall to that night, that night at the beach when he almost had her. She did not see his purely male and ugly thoughts of perversion; no, she thought he was being altruistic. Kyouya contemplated on this food for thought, and smirked as he went out of the room that night. He had discovered another side to her, a side of intelligence and contemplation that ranked above the meaningless satisfaction of lovemaking with a courtesan. Still, that night made him want her even more, not only her corporeal sanctity, but an incredible knowledge, both spiritually and physically.

He had not seen her in years. They both parted their own ways after college, but the shadow king had subtly pursued her in his high school years. And now he had the chance, the fish at the bait, yet he could not yield himself to get her, no matter how much fortitude he pushed towards acquiring her. Those innocent eyes often locked with his, but hollowly, lacking passion and fathom. Love wasn't as simple as a math problem

They both had problems of their own. Kyouya sought after the Ohtoori Empire for his entire life, but threw it back at his manipulative father's face. He was now penniless, shabby, living the life of the poor. The transition was abrupt, his father restricted all accesses, seeing an unworthy, incompetent son.

Haruhi suffered from the death of her loved ones, and worked several jobs to support herself after her father died from pulmonary embolism. She occasionally got support from relatives, but lived on her own, as she inured her sufferings through the sad complete numbness of emotions.

Then again, today was special. They celebrated their extra money by splurging on a single lovely night, finally accepted into their desired professional schools and making extra money beside the needed money for provisions.

But he ultimately knew that he could not have the young law student, despite all his charm and wits. Kyouya knew that Haruhi was not ready for a serious relationship; not after his best friend's death. Tamaki and Haruhi had a past, and it could not be replaced at the moment. Tamaki had opened her eyes and her heart to a world beyond the physical. He showed her understanding and virtue, as Kyouya hopefully and quietly watched over years. After receiving so much shock, Haruhi was not in a situation to love again.

They walked across the street, and waited at a bus stop. Only the moon lit up the dark indigo sky of the night, and a long moment of silence draped upon them. Haruhi walked around the area, nervous about her exams the next day, rather than staying consciously aware of the creepy, neurotic man next to her. Kyouya sighed, and took out his phone to clear some obligations. But Haruhi snapped out of her reverie, and asked Kyouya, "Why do you think, if there really is a supreme being, why the concept of death was developed?"

Her chocolate brown eyes locked with his cold onyx ones. The question shocked him, and he did not know how to answer. He opened his mouth, ready to drop a few cheesy words, but instead, he found them on an object he did not think he would ever touch, Haruhi's full lush lips.

No one knew who started the kiss, but the thoughts of each party shone clearly. To Haruhi, it was sorrowful, meaningless, and impulsive. Her hands wrapped Kyouya's silky black head of hair and stayed along the course of the kiss, which lasted longer than both of them would have liked. Her pupils enlarged, though staring at the mark on his nose rather than his eyes, but the feeling was confusing and dominant. She had great control over her life, but the power of awkward meshing of lips made her feel subordinate and inferior in life.

Kyouya felt the kiss cathartic, hopeful, and awkward. But a lingering feeling in his heart let him know that the chances for them were slim, although the heat spreading throughout his body contradicted it, and argued that he needed her to complete him. Together, they would unlock and unleash greater powers of love. Yet a feeling of guilt lingered, weighing down his chest.

But to both of them, the kiss was secure, insecure, awkward, firm, wet, wry, sweet, bitter, pitiful, euphoric, depressing, lighthearted, and a plethora of other feelings. They gracefully estranged apart and meshed stares into the other's eyes, subtly removing hands from hips.

With nothing left to say, Kyouya said one thing, "That was wet."

Haruhi did not react. She felt upon a crystallizing moment where she came to the realization of wonders and guilt. She fell flat on her face, emotionally when Tamaki left. She did not want to repeat the situation again.

Kyouya turned away and stared up awkwardly at the sky, not knowing what to say. He saw Haruhi walking away, but grabbed her hand, the feeling of regret and guilt overcoming him, "I'll walk you home; it's not that far."

"Where is home really?" she mumbled.

They walked to her humble abode, silent the whole path towards the apartment room. She opened the door, politely thanked him, and he excused himself. They discussed over the latest incident, and decided it was best for the both of them to depart.

"We both need our room and to move on from the crap around us. I'll go my way, and you can go yours. I'll leave you alone now goodbye."

"So all these months of dating, you'll just put a smack period? That's it?"

"No, just an ellipse. We both have problems to deal with, and we can't rely on one another for the solution, we have to face it." And with that, he left the humble room, Haruhi tending her business as if nothing had happened.

Kyouya walked down the stairs. He felt vague guilt, but confidentially overcompensated by reasoning that there were other solutions, other resources for both of them. The solution was the easy reasoning, but as for the years of pursuing her, he felt wasted. He left her, at an abrupt pause, trying to catch her all those years with one kiss as a souvenir. He regretted not ever expressing his truth to her, never telling her, never stopping her. The vague guilt progressed into true contemplation, true affection as he progressed down the stairs.

He walked out the gates of the building and walked to the nearest drug store, looking for an aspirin to assuage the pain of depression and crappiness in his head.

The bespectacled medical student saw a teenage couple, caressing one another in the darkness of the night from outside the window, whispering in low tones. And that was when he knew that Haruhi needed him. Her pain appealed to him, letting him think that without it, they would never accomplish scat. The crude thought of getting into her pants haunted him for years, but the past meant nothing. Moral standards grew on him past the years, and now he knew that Haruhi did not need a lover.

She needed a friend.

Grabbing a bouquet of flowers, he ran back to the apartment building, knocking on her door. From outside the door, he heard quiet sniffles and the empty murmurs of TV. After a great five minutes, someone opened the door.

It was indeed, not the woman he thought he loved. No, it was a pretty girl, hiding behind an old cardigan , tears staining her face and a mind laced of troubles.

"Look, I'm so sorry. Screw the ellipses. I don't want to leave you alone." Kyouya briskly said. They were both completely, brutally in harmonic honesty, and they sat on the hard wooden floor, a sad boy in a fancy Armenian suit, and a pretty girl cathartically exposing her emotions through tears and words.

Breaking the silence confining his lips, Kyouya finally said, "Relative to its size…"

End.

*is shot*


End file.
